Going Around in Squares
by Alice Rider
Summary: Get it? Like going around in circles, but there's a love square? I'm terrible at titles. Bear with me 10 years after their first meeting, our heroes face a dangerous new mission: confessing their love! but when things go sour, can they save Paris and each other?
1. An Ordinary Tuesday

This was no ordinary Tuesday.

There was nothing extraordinarily special about it, of course. A typical Parisian day, complete with taffic, warm weather, and plenty of clouds to blot across an otherwise sunny afternoon sky.

But this seemingly hum drum Tuesday had Chat Noir's insides twisting in knots as he paced the rooftop of their designated patrol meet up, muttering to himself in an attempt to quell the rapid fluttering of his heart because this Tuesday, this common place day of the week that would come and pass like any other to everyone else, this Tuesday marked exactly 10 years of his and Ladybug's very first meeting.

But what really had Chat so on edge, what really had his stomach churning and his mind so effectively muddled, was that today was the day he was finally going to do it. Today was the day he was going to throw all his chips on the table and truly come clean. Today was the day he was going to confess his love for her, confess that his dreams of him and her, of them, kept him awake at night and that he yearned for something beyond this simple partnership.

But the thought of actually achieving such a feat still made him queasy, so he pivoted on his heel again, rehearsing his lines as his feet clanked uneasily on some poor sod's roof.

He was so wrapped up in his own head, so focused on preparing himself and trying to remember his whole long, eloquent declaration, that not only does the time manage to slip by unnoticed, but so does one certain spotted heroine, and by the time he managed to turn around for the fifteenth – sixteenth? He can't really recall how many times his boots had tried to wear a rut in these shingles – round of relentless pacing, she's there, standing in his path as if out of thin air, a smile quirking her lips and blue eyes bright with something akin to mild curiosity, and everything in Chat's world comes to a screeching halt, racing mind and galloping heart included.

"What's the matter, kitty cat?" she askes, too sweetly, arms folded gently behind her back as she leans in, gaze bright and searching as it meets his.

If she's expecting anything other than a wide-eyed stare and hanging jaw, she's going to have to give him a minute, partly because she about scared the living daylights out of him with her sudden appearance, but mostly because trying to restart his heart and his brain simulatneously while she's padding softly towards him is a monumental task on its own.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" She giggles as she boops his nose with one finger, and whoops, ChatNoir.exe has stopped working. Any chace for higher brain function has effectively been defenestrated wth her touch alone, but her throwing around cat puns kicks his heart resolutely back into high gear.

The blush that creeps up his neck is as instantaneous as it is ridiculously bright, and Adrien coughs and sputters as his mouth runs dry.

She laughs again, full bellied and twinkling, as she steps away, drawing her yo-yo from her hip, shooting him an expectant look before she zips off, and he's suddenly left alone on the roof again, feeling every bit her lovable idiot.

Oh yeah, they're supposed to be going on patrol right now, and he's done nothing but melt down under her gaze (twice!) and act like a complete fool.

He's off vaulting after her as soon as he can feel his feet again, his heart performing some impressive acrobatics against his ribcage.

Patrols were suppsed to be easy.

And on any other normal Tuesday, they were. Patrols were a breeze, physical strain be damned, because patrols meant freedom.

Gallavanting across Paris had always been the best part of the job; it was a time he could escape the shackles of his civilian life, the schedules and the diet plans and the lonely nights, a time for him to go and do what he wanted to do and see what he wanted to see without the looming worry of what his father would say if he got caught. The fact that he got to spend this blessed bought time with Ladybug was icing on the cake.

Any time he could spend with his Lady was treasured, be it full of daring heroics or boring news conferences, but patrols were always a special slice of heaven, a time where she was at liberty to be more care-free –though she never really truly relaxed; Ladybug was always about saving Paris first, everything else second—and the banter they tossed about as they traipsed around the Parisian cityscape made all the downsides of this gig (the inexplicable bruises, the rushed and hectic searches for safe places to transform, the fact that he didn't even know the name of the girl he loved) worth it.

But on this non-typical Tuesday, patrol was going to be the death of him.

Adrien really didn't know what to blame: his frayed nerves, his terrible timing, or his world famous bad luck, but weekly patrol had never been so annoyingly eventful and and down right frustrating.

Their first break came on top of the soaring spires of Notre Dame,the sky still a pleasant, refreshing blue as the breeze chased the clouds overhead, though the sky still couldn't hold a candle to the captivating blue of her eyes when they lit up, shining from the thrill of swinging around the city, her city, at such daring heights, and all it took was one simple, small smile, nose scrunched up adorably and her cheeks pink from adrenalin, to send his heart back into his throat and his newly re-gathered bravado into the pit of his stomach.

The second time they stopped, it was for a quick breather on the rooftops overlooking the Louvre when the sun had just begun its descent beyond the horizon, the sweet blue of afternoon tinged with the softness of early evening, and Adrien had finally wrestled his tongue into submission. And it was going great! Fantastic, even. He had managed two whole sentences without succumbing to her overall grace and melting into a nerve-wracked puddle of love-struck boy, but just as a small smidge of hope (hope that maybe, just maybe, he could pull this whole confession off without self-destructing, hope that she would say yes, say that she loved him too) sparked in his chest, there came Alya, one of his best friends in the world and current bane of his existence, running up with her camera at the ready and the biggest smile Adrien had ever seen plastered to her face, calling out to them for a quick interview; and how could they say no to that?

By the time they'd reached the Eiffel Tower, their third and final stop, the sun hung low, slowly disappearing behind the great silhoutte of Paris, splashing vibrant oranges and reds in a final farewell.

Determination mixed strangely with lingering nervousness, making him light headed and breathless, and Chat had to call upon every ounce of strength to will his unsteady heart to keep beating, especially as they sat shoulder to shoulder, her arm brushing against his as she swayed with the evening breeze, chatting idly as they watched the sun set, waiting for the inevitable 'beep beep beep' of their miraculous timers to chase away the magic.

There wasn't enough air to sate the maddeningly tight feeling in his chest, and every word he'd wanted to say that whole patrol bubbled on the tip of his tongue, jumbled and garbled as they all fought to break past his lips.

It was the saccharine sweetness in those blue eyes as she smiled softly at him that did him in in the end, what burst the dam Adrien had been trying so hard to keep controlled all day, and the words tumbled into the space between them before he ever had a chance to stop them.

"I love you."

There was too long a pause, what seemed like eons stretched between seconds, and Chat's mind kicked into overdrive, trying to fill the empty space and break the deafening silence. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That's not how I wanted to say it at all. I had – I had this whole thing planned – I just. I'm sorry." She never moved, hardly even breathed, as his hands latched around her wrists, only stared at him, eyes wide in shock. "But I do!" His mind, his gut, his very being screamed at him to stop before it was all too late and he ruined everything between them, but there was no stopping the words as they poured from his heart now. "I love you. I've loved you since the first day we met. You're beautiful and brave and headstrong and valiant and I – I so desperately want to be something more than just your partner."

A breath.

"Please, Ladybug."

A hearbeat."

"Please."

Her silence was the punch to the gut that forced all the air from his lungs.

The pity in her eyes was the final blow to his shattered heart.

He dropped her wrists and turned away, to face the city so he wouldn't have to face her.

"Chat . . . Chat I'm so, so sorry." The gently hand on his shoulder burned, burned right through his suit and through his skin; but despite the heat, he didn't flinch. She was trying to catch his gaze, but when she determined that it was very pointedly fixed on anything that wasn't her, she continued.

"It's nothing against you! You're really a great guy! It's just . . . Paris, and – and the akuma, and the whole secret identity thing and . . . and well, I'm already kind of in love with someone else, and –"

He almost wishes she would just shoot him; it'd be less painful than realizing his shot in the dark never had a chance at all.

"But I'll always be here for you. I'll always be your friend, no matter what." The warm fingers under his chin, lifting his reluctant gaze to meet hers, seared. "I'll always be your Ladybug, and you'll always be my Chat Noir, right?"

Her searching eyes were full of hope and her words laced with worry. She was still fighting to salvage their relationship, their friendship, in fear that he would disappear. Like he ever had the choice.

"Of course, m'Lady." He offered her a smile, and though even he could tell that it was forced and shakey, relief flooded her features, but the pity still shone in her eyes.

There was half a moment where her fingers scalded the line of his jaw, something that she surely meant to be reassuring, and her mouth opened to say something, but three louds beeps shattered the stillness.

He'd never been on his feet so quickly in his life.

"I'll see you next week then."

The nights had never been so cold.


	2. The Set Up

In retrospect, Marinette should have known better than to trust Alya.

She should have been suspicious from the get-go when she received an entirely vague (yet somehow threateningly compulsory) invite a week ago to dinner, drinks, and the arcade, all expenses paid. There should have been red flags flying when Alya showed up at her loft with heels high enough to bring any man to his knees and an insistence that Marinette wear hers, too. And she definitely should have caught on when their taxi dropped them off in front of Marinette's favorite bistro right by the Eiffel Tower. But she hadn't. She'd been far too busy with work and the up coming spring fashion show case and getting all of her designs approved to smell the conspiracy right in front of her, and the whole ordeal with Chat not even 24 hours ago left her frazzled and oblivious.

But hindsight's 20/20, and by the time Marinette caught sight of Nino and Adrien idly chatting at a table for four, it was officially too late to run.

It was not too late, however, to drag Alya to the woman's restroom and proceed to Freak the Fuck Out.

"What the hell, Alya?" Marinette resisted the urge to scream and pull her hair, opting instead to pace the bathroom, heels clicking menacingly on the tile like gunshots and doing absolutely nothing for her nerves, and glaring daggers at her so-called best friend.

A best friend, who, seemingly unconcerned, merely leaned against the counter and rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Mari. It's not the end of the world."

"It is the end of the world! You set me up!"

Alya at least had the decency to pretend to be offended. "I did no such thing! I merely arranged a get together for four friends who do not hang out nearly as much as they should and provided a much needed break for a certain seamstress who is intent on working herself to death."

Marinette opened her mouth for a rebuttal, but clicked it shut again, though she wasn't about to let Alya come out victorious with such a smug look on her face. "This is a date. "

"A double date," Alya conceded, "and I could really use your help tonight."

Marinette scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Since when have you ever needed my help with a guy, and Nino of all people?"

Alya didn't answer, only hummed as she produced a compact from her purse and gently reapplied some powder to her nose.

"I'm here to protect here Nino from you, aren't I?"

"That you are, bestie! And I trust you'll do an excellent job." There wasn't much option in resisting when Alya looped her arm through Marinette's and all by drug her through the bathroom doors, waving down their dates before she could turn tail and run.

Dinner was . . . not horrible.

It was pretty pleasant, honestly. Nino graciously spearheaded most of the conversation, allowing Alya plenty of time to fill an anxious Marinette and an uncharacteristically quiet Adrien with ample, conversation-inducing wine; three glasses had eased the nervous knot in Marinette's stomach, just enough for her tongue to unravel itself and stop stumbling over words every time Adrien so much as breathed in her direction (it was entirely ridiculous to think that Lady Luck herself needed liquid courage to talk to a boy, but here she was, freshly refilled wine glass in her hand and actually talking to Adrien like a normal human being.) And Adrien was nice, polite, if not a little distracted, which Marinette couldn't decide if she was grateful for or not, because hey, she wasn't braving the night in six inches stilettos for nothing here, but at the same time, she wasn't entirely sure she was drunk enough to withstand the full force of those green eyes on her just yet.

(In the end, she chose to ignore it, because if he didn't look her way, she could stop trying to over-analyze the far away look in his eyes, and she could tell her tipsy self that the reason his smile didn't quite reach his eyes was a trick of the light.)

(Because God, if that didn't remind her of Chat's broken expression yesterday.)

(And damn it all if that didn't sting.)

So when the conversation turned to Ladybug and Chat Noir, as it inevitably would with Alya around, Marinette artfully diverted the topic to Alya's aspiring journaling career and let her friend go off on that tangent, silently hoping a fourth – and fifth – glass of wine would help her swallow the lump of guilt that had bubbled up in her throat.

And for the most part, it had worked. She'd managed to wrangle memories of yesterday's fiasco into some semblance of submission, tucking them away in the furthest recesses of her mind where they could haunt her some other time while Nino went on about life as a freelance artist, and even pulled off smothering the little voice in her head that kept telling her Chat wasn't coming back as Adrien bemoaned the trials of juggling being a full time physics major and his modeling; by the time the spotlight landed on her, she felt like her old self again, or, at least enough to prattle on about what it was like to work for Gabriel, The Gabriel, and the long hours and mountains of fabric that would surely swallow her whole one day; though the compliment from Adrien on her recent designs threw her totally off her game, and liquid courage be damned, she couldn't meet his gaze for the rest of dinner to notice that the light definitely wasn't reaching his eyes.

Drunk Marinette still kicked ass at video games, just . . . not as much as usual. It was partly due to the slight spin in her head from the wine, and partly because there was no way in hell she could focus with Adrien's arm brushing up against hers as they clacked furiously away at the old arcade machine's controls as their characters dueled on-screen.

(He had to know what he was doing to her, didn't he? He had to have noticed that the pink in her cheeks and the squeak in her voice wasn't just from the alcohol, right?)

She'd been so wrapped up in trying to land combos, so preoccupied with her declining health bar, that when she finally K.O.'d him, she was too busy celebrating to notice his faltering smile as he stepped away, and much, much to excited when the game chanted "New High Score!" to notice that Alya and Nino were nowhere to be found; that is, until Adrien mentioned it.

"What?" she squeaked, fumbling fingers digging through her purse. There was a single text from Alya, a winking kissy face emoji sent 20 minutes ago. "Oh Nino, I've failed you."

"What happened?" Marinette simply held her phone up to him in response. "Oh, man. I knew ye well brother. Rest in peace."

"I doubt he'll be getting much rest, tonight," she muttered (which earned her a chuckle, much more genuine this time), starting to type out a whole rant full of classic "how could you "'s, spiced up with colorful threats and sailors worthy curses, when she noticed the time. "Holy Christ, is it really already 11? I have to be at work in 6 hours!"

The warm hand in hers shocked her nerves and fried her brain, and in her state of shock, her feet nimbly followed his gentle lead and small smile. "Well, why don't we cash out our tickets and head out then? I'll walk you home, okay?"

"O—okay."

A cool breeze swept through the streets, gentle music floating along with it as it twirled the hem of her dress around her legs and played with her hair. The full moon hung low in the sky, pale in comparison to the city's bright glow, and Marinette wanted to dance.

Well, the wine wanted her to dance, and even though Drunk Marinette was delightfully warm and her whole body buzzed from head to toe, there was still just enough of Sober Marinette left to keep her swinging arms and rhythm-less feet mostly in check before she made a fool of herself in front of all of Paris.

But the one thing Drunk Marinette could do that her sober counterpart could only dream of was talk. And talk. And talk.

She didn't even care that Adrien mainly listened to her nonsensical ramblings, swinging the Ladybug yo-yo she'd totally lent him the tickets for at the arcade beside him as he trailed behind her on the sidewalk, because by the time they'd made it four blocks from the arcade, she'd managed to coax a smile, and honest to goodness, bona fide smile, from him, and as they crossed the bridge over the Sienne, she had him doubled over with laughter, gripping onto the railing to keep from falling over.

(Drunk Marinette was secretly proud, though Sober Marinette would regret spewing such an embarrassing childhood story in the morning.)

Fighting for breath and blinking back tears, Adrien caught her off guard in a tight hug, squeezing a startled squeak out of her as her cheeks flooded with color.

He held her at arm's length before she could process anything beyond the subtle strength of his embrace and the whiff of cologne that clung to him, and before Marinette had a prayer of rebooting her thoughts and relearning how to breathe, he shot her a prize winning smile, and good bye higher brain function.

"I'm sorry—I just—I didn't mean to—" he paused a moment, breathing deep to settle the chuckle in his voice, "Thank you. These last 24 hours have been a living hell for me, and I really needed that laugh. So, thank you. I feel world's better."

Wow, she really was helpless against the force of those eyes, wasn't she? How was she supposed to function when he looked at her like that? When the warm hands on her shoulders burned her to the core in the most wonderful way imaginable?

Answer: she wasn't. She couldn't. So she didn't.

Though there was a voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like one certain deserting best friend nagging at her: Don't just stand there staring at him! Do something! Say something! Move, girl!

The words bubbled up before she even knew she'd spoken.

"I love you."

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

The light in his eyes died and Marinette's heart shattered.

Adrien lifted his hands from her shoulders slowly, the chill in the air biting at her exposed skin, and suddenly, all Marinette could do was think, and her tongue tripped over the torrent that her panic provided. "I'm sorry! I'm so—God, I didn't mean to—Shit! I didn't want it to—I never meant for you to—I'm sorry!"

"It's ok, Mari. Please, calm down." His hand moved to pat her, to comfort her in some way, but it retreated quickly to nervously ruffle his hair. "It's really ok. It's just. . ." Marinette couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse that he wouldn't meet her gaze anymore, but it cut like knife the same. "I'm flattered, really. You're just a really good friend, and I'm I love with someone else, and—"

That low blow landed square in her gut, forcing what little air she had left out of her lungs in a shaky hiss.

Her head was starting to spin violently, but her lungs had abandoned their function in favor of letting her heart try to slam its way through her ribs.

Adrien's mouth was still moving, still rambling apologies and offering explanations, but there was a ring in her ears, rivaled only by the erratic roar of her pulse, and the only thing keeping her from throwing herself into the river was the hand suddenly hanging between them.

Oh yeah. Adrien was still talking.

"Friends?"

Marinette couldn't tell you where she got the energy to raise her hand to his when her body felt completely iced over, or the strength to spare his anxious stare a small smile, or the willpower to force the words, "Yeah, friends," through her lips, but the relief in his expression seared through her almost as bad as his hand in hers.

"So, should I still walk you home, or call you a cab, maybe?" She wished he would go back to looking at anything but her; the blatant pity shining in his eyes was going to make her sick to her stomach.

"No, no. Don't worry!" Was that actually her voice, so calm and steady? "My flat isn't far from here. I can make it on my own."

Adrien hesitated, just for a moment, and yup, she's definitely going to yak. She needed to get gone. Now.

"I'll see you around, ok?"

She didn't wait for an answer, pivoting on her heel before she all but raced down the sidewalk, arms tucked tight around her middle and head hung to hide the tears.


End file.
